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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379333">Cake Show</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrozJr/pseuds/KrozJr'>KrozJr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fluff, Not Epilogue Compliant, PTSD, Reunion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 01:28:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,963</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379333</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrozJr/pseuds/KrozJr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter left the wizarding world totally behind 5 years ago. After a breakup with Ron, Hermione happens to catch the new hit show: ‘Preparing Food with Potter’.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Hermione Granger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>115</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cake Show</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was inspired, of all things, by a song. The English band Kasabian have a song titled ‘Vlad the Impaler’, and when they perform it live, they are sometimes joined on stage by comedian and present of the TV show “The Great British Bake-Off”. When I saw them in 2017, Noel Fielding joined them by dancing around on stage in-character as Vlad The Impaler, and at the end of the song, when he was asked to say a  few words, he simply said “I kill many people in my time... also, I present cake show. Thank you.” This was the inspiration for this story.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, vanquisher-of-Voldemort, Kiss magazine’s winner of Britain’s most eligible batchelor for three years in a row. Was annoyed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not angry per se, just annoyed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Here he was, host and national star of an impressive baking show that had an average national viewing close to seven million nationwide weekly, and yet the news were interviewing him about his past. That wasn’t what really got him, though. What really annoyed him was that he couldn’t really answer their questions. What was he meant to say? ‘Well, I grew up abused by my only living relatives before going to a magical castle where I was a celebrity who nearly died every year before I killed a terrorist.’ Not bloody likely. Instead, he’d settled on a simple story, that wasn’t technically a lie, but was absolutely not the truth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I grew in a stern household and discovered a talent for cooking. Every other day I’d be slaving over the cooker making the meals because I loved to do so!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And because if I didn’t, I’d get shoved in the cupboard.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“A scholarship laid down by my sadly deceased parents allowed me to go to a specialist boarding school in the far north of Scotland.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where almost everyone was either a swooning fan, a bigoted racist, or both.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I had many adventures throughout my years there, and generally enjoyed myself.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aside from when I was fighting trolls, basilisks, dementors, dragons, Umbridge, and terrorists.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I got caught up in a terrorist incident during my last year there,” The IRA existed, this story wasn’t unreasonable, “and I had bad memories from the incident, so I left and returned to what I loved - cooking.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Because I couldn’t bear to be among the crumbling stonework and dead bodies, surrounded by people whose deaths I’d either caused or been a cause of.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I had a knack for it and one thing lead to another, and here I am!” </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s honestly amazing that with a national TV show absolutely nobody has found me yet. Hell, I have a fan-entry postal box! How has no-one found me?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry answered a few more questions, before then plugging his show and leaving the interview. He should have known he’d wind up annoyed; journalists tired and frustrated him immensely. Still, at least it wasn’t Rita bloody Skeeter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span><br/>“... and with that, you simply stir for a few minutes, and then pour the mixture on top of the first layer, before gently easing the second layer on top. Voila! A simple, tasty sponge cake!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Emma Granger, mother of a witch and former resident of Australia, relaxed into her sofa as she watched the cooking show, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Preparing Food with Potter</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Her tea gently steamed away as she took a slow sip. The host, an early twenty-something scrawny guy with a mop of unruly jet-black hair announced something about an advert break, and then the TV switched to advertising a new brand of soap. Emma tuned it out. As she contemplated going for a biscuit, she heard a knock at her door. Slowly, setting down her mug, she made her way to the hallway, and noticed two things. Firstly, the blurry figure standing on her porch had a mass of brown hair that seemed to bob up and down every few seconds.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione, then. Emma had forgiven Hermione for the fact that she’d been sent to Australia without some of her memories for a year, mainly due to the fact that she was still alive and not currently a corpse. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The second observation, which came a moment later, is that she could hear muffled crying. Emma opened the door and was immediately met with the sight of her daughter, hair in even more of a state than usual, carrying most of her possessions strewn in several massive bags. Emma immediately reached to grab some and helped Hermione in. As soon as the bags were set down on the table, Emma immediately engulfed her daughter in a hug; Hermione had learnt from the queen of bone-crushing, make-you-feel-better hugs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, Hermione?” Emma asked after a moment. Hermione disentangled herself from her mother, tear tracks still on her face, as she idly looked round the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ronald. Again.” She said, almost monotone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What happened this time?” Emma was concerned and unsurprised. Hermione had started going out with Ron not long before she came back from Australia, and Emma had never warmed to the boy. Hermione hesitated a moment, seemingly hoping to dodge the question, before sighing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We had an argument.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Again?” Emma wasn’t remotely surprised. At least four times a year, for the last five years, Hermione would turn up on her doorstep, jumper stained with tears, and she and her boyfriend would’ve had a blazing row.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Again. This time it was about Harry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What about him?” Emma asked, curious. Harry had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth five years ago, and she knew that Hermione had not taken his disappearance well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He wants me to give up the search. The thing is, I know he’s still alive. I just do. I haven’t found him yet. Then he accused me of having a crush on Harry, and he said that I wanted to cheat on him with Harry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You? Cheat? Not likely.” Emma snorted. Hermione didn’t have a dishonest bone in her body. Or she had so many of them that you couldn’t tell. Emma wasn’t entirely sure, these days. Her mind flicked back to 1993. ‘This year was relatively uneventful, to be honest. I’m looking forward to next year though - I get to do Runes and Arithmancy!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then something slipped out. He said that…” Hermione stopped, tears flowing freely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He said what?” Emma said, genuinely concerned for her daughter now. What had he said that had effected her so?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He said that he was, ahem, </span>
  <em>
    <span>meeting up with</span>
  </em>
  <span> an auror, a few years younger than me, if you catch my drift.” Hermione said, fury suddenly etching itself onto her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He was cheating on you.” Emma said flatly. Hermione just nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you packed and left?” She pressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“After nearly hexing his bits off, yes. We’re through. Done. Finished. I just can’t…” Hermione trailed off, for once not having the words to finish her sentence. Emma just pulled her into a hug, not sure what to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you need somewhere to stay for a few weeks, until you can find a new place?” Emma offered, knowing that there was something she might be able to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’d be excellent, thank you mum.” Hermione let out a small smile, but Emma could see her heart wasn’t in it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go on then, you can have your old room, it’s still decorated the same as it was before we left for Australia.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fifteen minutes later, the man on the television was now calmly making small meringue twirls to go on top of his cake (overkill, if you asked Emma), when Hermione slowly plodded down the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks mum,” she started, voice still sounding a little uneven, “when’s Dad going to be back?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione and her dad hadn’t quite been able to repair their relationship as fast; Dan, ever-stubborn (an inherited trait for Hermione, then), had been annoyed by their daughters actions. They were now on very good terms again, but Emma knew that both parties still sometimes felt like they were treading on ice around each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s gone out to the market, he’ll be back in an hour or so. Come, sit down, have a cup of tea.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks mum. I really need…” Hermione trailed off as she looked for the first time at the TV. There, opening a letter from a fan with a scrappy drawing of himself, was one Harry James Potter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s wrong love?” Emma asked, suddenly concerned. Her eyes flicked back and forth between her daughter and the TV, before she finally made the connection between her daughters wide-eyed expression and the name ‘Potter’. Emma had assumed it was a coincidence, but evidently not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry…? How…?” Hermione stuttered after a moment, eyes still glued to the emerald-eyed man on the TV. Her brain was working in overdrive, trying to make sense of the new information she’d just been presented with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He presents… a cooking show?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Er, Harry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, what?” Harry sighed. One of his assistants was reading and checking his fan-mail for him. He wasn’t lazy, he was just popular and paranoid. He’d survived a war, he had a right to practice constant vigilance, hence why his wand was always in his trouser pocket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, this letter, it… it has your full name. Harry James Potter.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Harry was stunned. He’d never given his full name out on TV, he hardly ever even used ‘Harry’ any more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. I don’t know where they got it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who sent it?” He asked, voice shaky. Evidently, he had a stalker, or…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A H. Granger. Any ideas who that…” His assistant was cut off by the sight of his boss comically almost falling out of his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... and now, to the ever-popular fan mail section! Firstly, a brief message to a certain H.G. out there who shall remain nameless, </span>
  <em>
    <span>how did you find me</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Seriously, how? And why now? What do you want?” There was a pause as he blinked. “Anyway, moving on, Jennifer, 8, from Huddersfield, thank you very much for the card, although I regret that my birthday is actually in July, not May, but…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione blinked suddenly. It had been her mother’s idea to send in the letter to the fan mail address. After owl post had failed, it seemed like the only way left. And she’d got a response. An actual response. She hadn’t expected that; she’d been expecting the letter to wind up buried deep in a landfill site somewhere nestled between a used sofa and a half-burnt leather refrigerator with very fancy designs all over the seats. Not aired out on national television.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>
    <em><br/>Daily Star</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Who is H.G.? A former friend or a cursed enemy?</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This week, fans of the popular daytime TV show </span>
  </em>
  <span>Preparing Food with Potter</span>
  <em>
    <span> were treated to an odd entry in the much loved ‘fanmail’ section of the show. In the segment, usually about five minutes long, Potter reads out heartfelt letters from his fans and sympathisers from across the nation, as well as responding to those he chooses to with kind messages in return.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>However, this week, there was an odd addition. A mysterious letter from an ‘H.G.’ was evidently delivered to the programme, and it’s obvious based on Mr. Potter’s reaction that he was not expecting whoever wrote this letter to write to him. With a bemused expression on his face, he asked the anonymous writer how they found him, what they wanted, and (in his words) “why now?” One cannot help but wonder who this mysterious person is?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>One theory is that it’s someone from Mr. Potter’s mostly mysterious past. Mr. Potter has been noticeably unforthcoming with information regarding his childhood, only detailing a skeleton of a past. Many fans up and down the country think that the mysterious ‘H.G.’ is a former friend or lover who was left behind when Potter left his school following what he has described as a “terrorist incident”.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>However, this raises questions as to precisely how one could avoid a friend, former or otherwise, for five years. After all, Potter is undoubtedly one of the most viewed hosts in all of Britain, attributed to both his dashing good looks and his kind, bubbly personality</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Furthermore, it is notoriously hard to find out any details of his childhood. In an effort to uncover some more information, I went to Potter’s childhood neighbourhood, Litte Whinging (Surrey), in an effort to understand our televisual hero. What I found…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry Potter put down the paper and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. His letter from Hermione had evidently created a media sensation, if such a thing could be said to exist. All of the magazines went mental, suggesting wild theories from his secret lover (in his dreams) to his mortal enemy (unlikely, if he’d made an enemy of her, he’d had died multiple times over). Most frustratingly, the women of Britain evidently saw this as a threat and the number of pieces of women’s underclothing he received through the post had tripled in the last week. Great, women’s underwear. What, precisely, was he supposed to do with that? Some, worryingly, had even come with pictures. Those had been burned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He just didn’t get why Hermione had finally decided to contact him after five years. He’d left the wizarding world after he’d defeated Voldemort, weighed down by the memories of the dead, and had made a way for himself in the muggle world. As a side-effect of his upbringing, he was a phenomenal chef, and he had quickly landed himself a star role as a presenter. In a public position like that, surely someone as well-versed as Hermione in the muggle world would have found him quicker than that? Nevertheless, after a week, he decided he could put it off no longer, and dialled the attached phone number.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, the Granger residence, this is Hermione speaking, how may I help you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hermione?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione’s heart stopped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Harry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. It’s me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a moment of silence. Hermione just… for the second time in a fortnight, her brain had effectively been broken by the mere idea of Harry Potter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But… how? Where have you been?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been quite obvious, as far as I’m concerned. You know, Britain’s favourite TV show host, millions tuning in every week, the works. How could you not find me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hermione paused at that. That was a very good question. As a surface answer, she could say that she’d been engrossed in the wizarding world, and that was true, but deep down, she knew it was more than that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ron.” She said after a moment. “He was… a possessive boyfriend, shall I say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We split up just under two weeks ago. The prat cheated on me. Should’ve left much sooner. Always getting into fights, he was too controlling, especially without you to moderate it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth, Hermione. I just… needed some space and assumed that, if you wanted me, you’d find me.” Harry sighed. “I thought I was obvious enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you forgot how jealous and controlling Ron could be. He worried that if I was in the muggle world, I’d find someone else. How I lasted five years with him, I honestly don’t know. I just…” Hermione trailed off, the warring emotions within her just too much.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you? With your parents? They still live in Crawley, right?” Harry said. Hermione simply hummed an affirmative at him, before suddenly hearing the line go dead. Her brow furrowed in confusion for a second before she heard a crack and then a knock at the door. At almost a breakneck pace, she ran to the door, and opened it. She was greeted by a simply wonderful sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I come in?” Harry asked with a crooked grin.<br/><br/></span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry looked around the medium-sized suburban house where Hermione’s parents lived. Adorning every wall were pictures of the couple, as well as many of Hermione. Ron was only present in one photo, one of him, Hermione, and Harry, evidently taken at Hogwarts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone is persona non grata with the Granger household then.’ Harry wryly noted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lovely house your parents have got.” Harry said simply. How do you start the first conversation you’ve had with someone in five years? Harry winced as his shoulder ached; he had evidently forgotten just how fierce Hermione’s hugs were, and hadn’t adjusted accordingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Hermione hummed in agreement. The two just looked at each other for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never stopped looking, you know.” Hermione said after a moment. “Any time I was in the alley, any wizard with dark hair, I’d look and… no.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was another long pause. Neither quite knew what to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just… I had to get away. I still see them, sometimes, when I close my eyes. Colin, Lavender, Fred, Tonks, Sirius, Dumbledore, Dobby, and Lupin. Even the Death Eaters from the battle that died. They never truly left me, their blood on my hands.. That’s why I took up the show; it took my mind of things.” Harry sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I kill many people in my time… also, I present cake show.” Hermione spontaneously deadpanned. The two looked at each other for a brief moment before breaking down in hysterics.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay…” Harry breathed after a solid minute of laughter, still struggling to breathe or speak, “I’ve missed you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You too.” Hermione immediately responded, not even needing to think about it. The tension was immediately lifted somewhat. The two looked at each other, this time no longer warily. Suddenly, Hermione noticed the proximity of Harry to her. He had a familiar smell of a forest, pine needles and moss, as well as new unfamiliar overtone of a kitchen, baking and cookery evidently sleeping into his jacket. She looked up slightly, into those emerald orbs he had. They were still faintly haunted, as they had been the last time she had seen him, but now they had that spark that had been in then for seven years, dancing playfully in the afternoon light. There was also something else there, something she couldn’t immediately identify.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Love?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if on autopilot, the two gently leaned in and their lips met. Harry inhaled deeply, breathing in the familiar scent of roses and vanilla, as well as peppermint chocolate and old parchment. Something so very-Hermione.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe, just maybe, the show might just have a co-host in its future. He could see it now: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Preparing Food with the Potters.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
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